


Whether It's Breakfast or in Kisses (I Know You Love Me So)

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Prompt Fic, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: velociraptorexxsaid:Jeanmarco prompt where Jean is really gay for Marco bUT MARCO DOESNT KNOW UNTIL LATER AND ISNT SURE HOW HE FEELS BUT THY KISS ANYWAYS I'msorryivebeeninadownspiralofjeanmarco





	

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written jm in OVER HALF A YEAR can you believe it??? im so out of practice
> 
> but hey!!! my first ever prompt without asking for it, thats cool shit yo
> 
> also bro its like 2 in the goddamn morning i cant be doing this why am i awakkke
> 
> listened to [this while writing](https://playmoss.com/en/causes/playlist/heaven-help-a-fool-who-falls-in-love)
> 
> [here it is on tumblr](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/159520347758/jeanmarco-prompt-where-jean-is-really-gay-for)

          There are benefits to being an early riser, Marco thinks. When he was a teenager, with staying up until everyone else falls asleep, there’s that silence of the world around him, but it comes with being the first up as well. It’s a little different, sure, with the birds’ chirping, the coffee machine’s hums, the cars pulling out and driving off to work or wherever else, but it’s... still. He can never be the first and only person in the world awake in the morning, but he could be the first in his home, and with being so, it brings a certain kind of calm. 

 

        Now, there’s still the sun shining in, warming the carpet under his feet, casting the kitchen in a soft glow. Sometimes he’s up early enough to see the rise of it, watch how the birds take to the skies and burst into differing directions before flocking together on trees again, shrieking at the start of a new day. Sometimes he’ll sit out on the back porch with his phone playing music at a low volume as he just watches. He watches until he can’t, until the ball of light hurts too much too look at directly, and he goes back inside to start his day.

 

          And then there’s this. There’s opening his eyes to remember that he didn’t go to bed last night alone. He gets to remember that last night it wasn’t just him on the couch, that he took turns with his controller, that he had a reason to pull out one of his bigger bowls to pour his popcorn into instead of just eating it out several bags and getting up to make more. He gets to remember sliding into bed, another person following after him, cold feet poking against his own until he gives in and pulls closer. 

 

          He gets to remember that a friendship of many years with Jean doesn’t end with them passing out in separate rooms anymore. It doesn’t end with pulling the spare blankets and tossing them onto the couch. There hasn’t been a hesitance to their cuddling in years, not with how chilly Jean always was, and how Marco could always see it. Time has given him this, given him the opportunity to be as close as they can be without blurring the line between friends and something else too much. 

 

          It’s a blessing and a curse sometimes, but now, in the mornings, where no one can judge him but his own mind, all it is more of a reason to get up early. 

 

          Like this, he can take note of the way Jean has moved in his sleep, out from where he was tucked under Marco’s chin as Marco threw an arm over him, but still close enough that he’s within Marco’s reach and warmth. He’s far enough back that Marco doesn’t have to tilt his head down to look at his face, but close enough that he can see the sunlight catches on his eyelashes, drawing Marco’s gaze to them even more than they usually do. He could count them now, if he wanted to, but he moves on before he lets himself get lost in that.

 

          Jean’s hair, short as it is, puffs up like crazy in the morning, especially if he’s showered the night before. It’ll be easier to see when he wakes and sits up, skewing in all directions as opposed to Marco’s own that goes flat on the side he was laying on and muses on the other. His is never as bad as Jean’s, but he doesn’t know if that’s due to length, or if it’s because his has always just been easier to wrangle how he wants it. 

 

          Much like his lashes, Jean’s hair glows in the morning’s light. Spread all over the pillow like that, the ambiance from the quiet and intimacy... it’s an easy way to fall into a spiral of imagining this as permanent, a domestic bliss he could keep and wake up to every day. It’s not his to have, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want it. That some days he doesn’t _crave_  it. 

 

          He’s reaching forward just to touch it, stroke through the hair and maybe attempt to make it a little less obvious _bedhead_ , indulge himself in the fantasy of having this, having him, when Jean’s eyes start to flick back and forth under his lids. He’s already starting to wake. As Marco drops his hand to fall back down on Jean’s hip again, he thinks he should be disappointed, maybe, at not getting to spend a little more time pretending, but instead he just kind of smiles to himself at the thought of hearing Jean’s croaky morning voice, seeing his gorgeous eyes squint at the brightness of the world - at just getting to see more of his best friend again. 

 

          He’s so gone on this boy.

 

          It doesn’t hit him until Jean’s expression (comfortable, content) turns puzzled that maybe he should have already gotten up, maybe pulled his hand back, or scooted away. Instead, here he is, staring and smiling, clearly having been awake for at least a few minutes longer than Jean, and only saying, “Good morning.”

 

          Oh well. Too late now. Maybe he can play it off? Laugh it away? Hope that Jean doesn’t question it. They’ve been friends a long time - there have been many times where one of them did something weird and it was shrugged off and forgotten about instead of brought up. Surely this will be no different, surely Jean will just see it as Marco being his usual dopey self in the morning and put it out of his mind.

 

          And sure enough, after a second, Jean grins like it’s no big deal. His mouth works wordless, no greeting coming out, but Marco, still a little overwhelmed with only just now waking up and seeing the lovely sight of Jean sleeping right in front of him - finds himself glancing at it anyway. A pink tongue pokes out to wet those distracting lips and really, Marco knows that even if Jean said something now, he still wouldn’t catch what was said, being too caught up in watching that short, but, ah, _entertaining_  action. 

 

          If they weren’t in bed together and it wouldn’t be way too obvious, he probably would have shifted his legs a little at the tingling sensation that runs through him. 

 

          He feels a hand settle on the side of his cheek, long fingers curling to touch his hair, and his gaze snaps up to stare at Jean, confusion written on his on his own face this time. They’re close, yes, but they don’t often do... this. Whatever this is. He opens his mouth to ask just what’s going on, what’s going through Jean’s head, but he’s beaten to the punch. 

 

          Briefly, he takes in the almost smirk that laces Jean’s lips before he’s shuffling closer and pressing it to Marco’s own mouth, that’s got to be gaping now. Or, it probably would be if he hadn’t just woken up too, but instead it seems to come to the conclusion the rest of him has found which is just _warm, comfortable, finally_.

 

          Eyes close, his hand adjusts to hold Jean’s waist better before tightening a little into the skin there, and his lips move, not to question, but to press against Jean’s own. His other hand comes up to brush against Jean’s neck, wanting to slip around to the back of it, but without jostling him, he wouldn’t be able to do so at a comfortable angle, so he instead lets it caress the smooth skin there, sliding down to his collarbones, and halting on his chest, right over his heart. The beat under it feels like it’s picked up to go just as fast as Marco’s own has, and stutters when Marco’s fingers push into the material of his sleep shirt as if to get closer. To his skin, to his heart, or just to him - just closer. 

 

          Jean is the one to pull away, to start and finish (not a surprise), and as Marco’s eyes open, the thoughts and doubts of the validity of this kiss hit him. Is this just a thing that Jean did in the confusion of waking up? Because Marco was close? Because of how their touches are intimate and maybe this could be something else like that? If it is, Marco will have to put his foot down because he can hold Jean close and know, know that they’re just friends, but kissing is stepping over that line for him.

 

          “Hey,” Jean’s voice pulls him back to reality - an actual post-kiss reality. His voice is just as rough as it normally is at this time of day, and Marco wonders if more kissing would make it deeper, if not, what could. His eyes hold a special kind of softness that almost makes Marco lean to continue their kiss, but he has that every morning that Marco’s seen, so it isn’t a confirmation either way. 

 

          But his next words? They are.

 

          “Been wanting to do that forever.” He confesses, a corner of his mouth taking an upturn, but instead of being smug or sly, it’s... shy. “Since forever. Always. You know, been pining and all that.” His voice waves a little under the weight of his words, like it does when he’s nervous, or saying something he wants to say, but wants to stay tucked deep inside of him.

 

          It’s unnerving. It’s... astounding. Never in a million years...

 

          Marco, as he’s been doing all freaking morning, stares at him. He can’t get his mouth to do anything but open and close like a fish, even though he wants it to do anything else. He wants to maybe dip down and kiss Jean, maybe say back _bet I’ve been pining longer_ , but all he can do is realize that he’s broke. Jean’s broken him. Of course, if anyone, it’d be Jean, but still. Not the greatest of times to be silent right now.

 

          Not when Jean’s going to need a response back. A reply of some kind, anything.

 

          When he finally does get himself together, get his mouth working and under his control, Jean’s still staring, but he’s obviously amused at Marco’s shocked reaction, even if a bit of nervousness has started to creep in. If he doesn’t say something now, Jean’s going to feel rejected, maybe even leave, and Marco doesn’t want a misunderstanding between them. Not over this.

 

          So, he opens his mouth again, planning fully on saying back _me too_ , but what comes out instead is, “Waffles?”

 

          And... goddamn it. 

 

        Jean, however, who knows Marco better than Marco even knows himself, only lights up, twisting close enough to nudge Marco’s nose when he nods excitedly. He knows what waffles are - a rarer thing in Marco’s place, used often in celebration, in congratulations, a feel-good breakfast food. He knows what Marco’s suggestion means before Marco’s brain even catches up.

 

          “Never wanted anything more.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my writing/snk tumblr](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> smash that mf kudos button if you made it all the way here and if you LIKED IT A LOT then comment something! i dont even care if its about the fic or not! tell me about your day!


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